


Home to Her

by TashaVick87



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, demisexual roman ftw, lovemaking, my take on the deleted scenes from the season 2 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29338491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaVick87/pseuds/TashaVick87
Summary: She had looked closer than anyone else ever had, and found a gem in that disobedient little fuck the likes of which she’d never imagined could exist within the Roy family tarnished set of crown jewels. A beautiful unpolished onyx.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	Home to Her

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy of Hozier, one of my inspirations in writing :)  
> I had to do a ''deleted scenes'' fic, esp since those particular deleted scenes haunt me frequently lol. Also, PSA - Roman Roy is a demisexual and that is the hill I choose to die on.

**PART 1**

The building pressure in her ears makes her feel like she’s on a plane rather than on a yacht currently somewhere in the middle of the Adriatic.

Not one of the crew pays her much heed as she wanders the top deck, smoothie in hand. Even though they were technically on a cruise, she couldn’t let her mind get clouded by alcohol, so a smoothie had to do, even though she shudders at the vile taste of pineapple that the guy put in there despite her explicit order not to.

She abandons the glass on a nearby flat surface and keeps walking, the area of the boat all to herself, the family members having scattered like mice to their rooms. Frank and Carl, too, all of them hiding from the wrath of their own brand of volatile Ares, breathing down their necks, showering them in a grotesque form of benevolence that was anything but.

She had always wondered what it felt like to be thrown under the bus. Now she knew. Well, maybe not quite. She knew what it felt like to _almost_ be trampled by several sets of heavy duty tires, but then be unexpectedly pushed away from certain death.

How was she supposed to process it? She hadn’t gotten much sleep in the days leading up to the wretched trip, and now, with his hostage situation and her nearly being sacrificed to the gods of FBI, she doubts she’ll ever sleep again.

She thinks back on the moment when he first returned, the joking jibes they all greeted him with. Even her. She knew the moment she uttered the cruel sentence that it was the worst thing she could have done, further proven right by his very un-Roman like reaction.

She has always thrived by being able to compartmentalize. Baird and their private life to one side, Baird and her at work on the other. The Roy family, the pack of rats they are, in a subsection labeled _‘‘do not antagonize – much’’_ , and she was okay with that.

Somehow though, the boy runt of the litter had slithered out of his designated play area and was now running rampant, around her thoughts, around her entire life.

She has absolutely no idea how or why she let this happen in the first place, but the fact remains - it did. She encouraged it, fed his fragile ego the dirt it needed to literally get off, his groans and the sound of skin against skin something she is likely never to forget.

She closes her eyes and she can hear it so clearly, over and over and over again.

So far, she hasn’t succumbed to her own body’s clearly inane desires, simply brushed them away, at first merely surprised they were there to begin with. Baird and her had what was possibly the dullest sex life, but she couldn’t blame anyone else but the two of them, the corporate busy bees they were, Waystar and their daughters always coming first in the equation to think about much else, let alone spicing things up between the sheets.

She swept her highly physical reaction to Roman aside for several reasons really. She could not allow herself to fantasize, let alone actually sleep with Roman, because if Logan ever found out that would be the end of them. And it wasn’t just herself she was worried about, not primarily anyway. Knowing Logan’s temper, Roman would literally, physically, be on the receiving end of it, and if that happened, there wouldn’t be much she could do to stop herself from stepping in. No, rocking the boat was not an option.

But oh, how she was proud of him. She hadn’t expected his loyalties, that’s not why she even started helping him. She merely wanted Logan to start _seeing_ his youngest boy, treat him with an ounce of respect he deserved. Roman would not become Connor 2.0, not on her watch.

She had looked closer than anyone else ever had, and found a gem in that disobedient little fuck the likes of which she’d never imagined could exist within the Roy family tarnished set of crown jewels. A beautiful unpolished onyx.

The pain he is constantly in - and she saw it on so many occasions - was a powerful brand of fuel he used to keep himself going, sidestepping drugs - unlike Kendal, dodging the sycophantic worship of their father - unlike Shiv, building his own type of Roy way to exist.

His capacity to listen had surprised her. She doesn’t know if it’s her, or if it’s just that he needed to find someone, anyone who had finally decided wanted to _listen back_. She selfishly hopes it’s just her he reacts to, shuts down the line of thought immediately.

She rounds one final corner, her feet hitting the carpeted area, leaving the warm teak behind, walking back to her cabin.

* * *

How fucking dare they? Gerri, of all people? That was the quickest he ever thought on his feet and he can’t help but praise whatever god or cosmic energy there is up there that it seemed to have worked, that he seemed to have successfully pried his father’s thoughts away from the possibility of throwing Gerri into the volcano.

But is it enough? Will the old man shake awake later in the day and forget the valid argument Roman gave him?

He fists his hands by his side, feeling itchy all over in the lounger watching the bustling crew go about their day, preparing for the next family meal. He hopes they’re ready to mop up the blood after what’s to come. But if the blood ends up being Gerri’s, Roman swears to blow the lid off the whole thing.

He heads straight to his cabin, feels the need to shower the Roy off himself. If he once thought America is tough to wash off, he now realizes his bloodline was even worse.

* * *

He is exiting the bathroom when he hears a gentle knock on the door.

Towel cinched around his waist he freezes in place, knows the one person who it could be, would know the softness in most everything she does, even her knock, her occasionally rough, highly addictive words notwithstanding.

He shakes the memories away, the way he is currently clothed wouldn’t do much by way of helping if he got overexcited.

He opens the door and sees her standing there, glasses off, light-green summer dress on her frame, hair falling across her brow as she dips her gaze downwards and to the side, checking for intruding eyes.

He walks away from the door, leaving the choice whether to leave or get in up to her, she was clearly almost afraid of something, the way she is standing there like a skittish colt.

He tries to forget the way he instinctively knew she was physically shaking that morning when she was offered up, even though he was sat across from her. He feels that, in the moment, he felt every heartbeat of his as if it were her own.

‘‘I wanted to thank you.’’, she starts, voice low and almost shy, a novelty in the Gerri Kellman that he knows, but certainly not unbelievable. He memorizes the cadence and pitch, archives it like a top-secret document in his mind.

‘‘Funny, I thought you were here to throw another hostage joke my way.’’, he responds flippantly, smiling mischievously. He regrets it immediately, seeing her face drop. She bites her bottom lip, tongue swiping across it, and that’s when he knows he’s really out of line. Her poker face had only one tell, and that was it. She might as well be falling apart at the seams right in front of him.

‘‘Sorry. I’m an ass, you know me. Let’s start over?’’

She sighs and nods, hand nervously brushing through her hair, and he sees the creases in the front of her dress, like she’d been crushing it in her hands for hours.

He feels uneasy when she lets herself be read this easily, even if it is by him, who is someone, he likes to think, that she lets a little further in than all the others. She looks away again, for all intents and purposes browsing the décor of his cabin.

‘‘Gerri?’’, he utters her name gently and when she looks back at him, she might as well have slapped him. There are tears in her eyes and a quiver in her chin that seem to be the final drop in his self-containment, but also hers as she walks closer to him, lets him put his arms around her in a strong hug.

‘‘I’m sorry, Rome, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…’’, she keeps murmuring over and over into his shoulder, and he hugs her closer, the shaking of her entire body now worrisome, her inhales erratic and uncoordinated as she tries to be as quiet as possible.

* * *

She has no idea what’s wrong with her, but it feels so good to be held by someone after so long, feels even better to know it’s him.

She is only human and knows this was long coming, she just never thought it would be in front of him, because of his near death, because of his chivalry.

The buck always stopped with General Counsel and today was the day for alleviation. The Roy burden comes with a price, and this was just the tip of that iceberg.

But as she cries and feels the tension leave at least for a while, reality starts hitting her.

She is in his arms, her tears cascading down his warm bare shoulder. She smells him, the fragrance of his freshly showered skin strong and overpowering, and feels a tingle in her lower abdomen. She abruptly pulls away, arms coming to cross at her front.

‘‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what-’’

He is seemingly nonchalant about all of it, but she can tell that her breakdown rattled him, and she can’t run away now, a can of worms has been opened in a way she doesn’t understand, but will see through.

‘‘Gerr, come on. It’s me! You’ve berated me to dozens of mind-blowing orgasms, what’s a little hugging between friends?’’

She snorts, a grin spreading across her face, swipes her palms across her cheeks, and he hands her a box of tissues.

‘‘Now don’t use all those up, I have some lotion and a camera roll of the best photos of you from the congressional hearings with my name on them, I am planning quite the party.’’ He waggles his eyebrows but she doesn’t respond.

He thinks he’s put his foot in it when he sees her face freeze, her full lower lip jutting out slightly, and he imagines kissing her. Imagines plunging his tongue in her mouth, what it would feel like if she didn’t push him away.

He never got this turned on by thinking about anyone, about anything remotely sexual, not like this anyway. But now, he feels himself respond, sees her eyes flicker, for a nanosecond, to his lower half, and he has to stop himself from running away from the moment.

So what if he’s never really done this in a way he liked, with anyone? He’s never felt this kind of almost blinding arousal either, and that has to be saying something.

She is still not moving, and he can see her mind going a mile a minute, but knows he can’t do anything, that he needs her to make the decision for the both of them. The hierarchy of them is very clear, and though deemed by others as someone who was raised to be nothing more than a brat, he would never violate her wishes.

* * *

It was the mention of her photos that made her speechless. She honestly always thought that all he saw in her was someone willing to insult him into orgasm, the words themselves, not her, being the ones that had the power over him.

She briefly flicks her gaze downward seeing all proof she needs that they were on the same page.

Her heart is pounding so ferociously against her ribcage she thinks she might have to stuff it back in at one point if it jumps out and then promptly scolds herself for acting like a teenager.

She makes a snap, in the moment decision, her feet almost automatically carrying her to the door. As she hears the lock flip into pace, watches her own hand make it happen, she swallows against a dry throat and turns back to face him.

* * *

She walks over to him slowly, thinks she sees in his eyes an uncharacteristic type of fear. No, not fear, she corrects herself. Longing infused with heavy caution. It melts her heart a little as she reaches out slowly for his hand, feels him thread their fingers together, not taking his eyes of hers, his breathing now more hectic, his pale chest heaving slightly.

‘‘Roman-’’, she starts, surprised by the amount of grit in her voice from the salt of her own tears. ‘‘We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.’’

He’d given her the reins of this thing, but she will always respect him enough to share the vote of confidence.

‘‘I know.’’, he says and steps closer still, his palm placed firmly against her waist, his other hand wrapping softly around the back of her neck.

The kiss is unlike any other she’d ever experienced. It’s like she can taste him in it, feel the insecurity, the eagerness to please, his ego warring with his hidden self, neither winning or losing, battling on the peak of his tongue as he slides it in, touches hers.

She lets him lead, and he does, beautifully, pants into her, and she drinks in his breath, arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

They break apart for a moment, foreheads close together, sharing the same air, her then tracing a line down his cheek bone with her lips, unable to stop herself.

‘‘I don’t know what we’re doing, Rome-’’

She has to voice it. She is terrified, but for the life of her she can’t stop.

‘‘Well, if you don’t know, Geraldine, then I sure as hell don’t either.’’, he whispers into her hairline. ’’As long as I can keep doing this.’’, he says, leaning in for another kiss, and she responds eagerly, capturing his bottom lip.

‘‘Never call me Geraldine’’, she snaps, nipping harshly then soothing the skin with her tongue.

She can feel him against her hip and her hands reach down, a flick of her fingers undoing his towel, leaving him completely bare in front of her.

He smirks, and when she looks down she knows why. The little fucker knows he’s more than well endowed and is showing off. The general counsel in her rears up, smirks at the challenge in his eyes.

One quick move has her swiping the dress she is wearing over her head, leaving her in matching silk bra and panties, deep forest green, with an intricate lace trim.

The thing about the outward Geraldine Kellman persona was that no one in their right mind would ever link what they see in boardrooms to who she really is. And she prided herself on that fact. So, she figures the last thing he’s expecting is La Perla.

The notion of showing this part of herself to Roman makes her heart light, and the heat between her legs triple.

‘‘Jesus, Gerri.’’, he breathes out, eyes roaming her body.

She tries not to be to self conscious about her looks, knows that for a woman her age, she looks pretty good, long nights and sometimes having no time for regular meals occasionally came in handy, even though she does see the unhealthy side of it all.

But, she still has to fight to not cover her stretch marks, the bit of fat around her waist she was always heavily insecure about.

She tries not to think of the models he usually dates and - she assumes - beds in one way or another. The image of the tall, willowy Tabitha flashes in her mind’s eye.

* * *

He takes both her hands, walking them backwards to the bed until he feels the edge of it hit his knees. He sits down, her between his legs, goddess made flesh, and he can’t get enough of looking at her. The fullness of her curves, the pale skin now on display so tempting. He reaches out and slides a soft palm against her thighs, drawing his hands upwards, towards her waist. He looks up and something in her eyes stops him, a certain type of insecurity so unlike anything remotely Gerri that he almost flinches.

‘‘You okay?’’

She nods, reminded of their conversation that morning, his death cruise remark, the way he tried to make her feel better by making fun of Carl and Frank. She wonders if he knows just how much his cover is always blown when he uses such emotional language, even though it sometimes may be coated in jokes and off the cuff bravado. The words ‘‘purest Roy’’ come to mind.

‘‘I’m fine Rome.’’, she assures him, the back of her hand caressing his jawline.

He doesn’t believe her, because he is just that good at reading her at times, but he lets it be.

He focuses instead on her body, unable to stop himself from running his lips against her stomach, the skin soft and smooth and her breath hitches above him as he lets his tongue trace lower still, follows the line of her c-section scar.

She gasps, hands coming up to grip his shoulders, feels him inhale against her, pausing for a moment, then continuing lower.

She can feel her own arousal now making its way down the inside of her thigh, is almost embarrassed by her body’s treacherous response but as his mouth descends further, him now on his knees on the floor, a kiss placed, barely there, at the very top of her panty line, she finds it really hard to care.

When he looks up, she sees him swallow hard, his jaw clenching and unclenching, the hands at her sides trembling ever so slightly.

‘‘Come here.’’, she says, her voice barely a whisper, taking his hands, guiding them both onto the bed. She lays him down, then settles herself next to him, both on their sides, legs entwined. She can’t remember a time she had been like this with a man. Doesn’t know if it ever happened, really, not with this level of intimacy.

‘‘I am not going to pretend I know why you have the hold-ups that you do about this, but if you want, we can stop. I can tell you’re not…here with me. Not fully.’’

His lips set into a firm line, he runs his fingers through his still wet hair, his other hand reaching out to pull her close.

‘‘It’s not that I don’t want to, I mean come on, look at you.’’, he tries to smile, but she can still see the misery he is feeling peek through.

She arches an eyebrow, doesn’t quite let herself believe his compliment, concentrates instead on solving the problem of the quiver in his voice.

‘‘Then talk to me. What is it?’’

* * *

How does he explain the absolute terror he feels at failing her, at being so shit at this that she’ll run a mile and never fucking look back. He can’t afford to lose her. Not her.

‘‘Shit… It’s not a secret I’m fucked up when it comes to this whole thing, Gerri. If anyone witnessed it firsthand it’s you.’’, he grinds out, hands coming up to his face.

‘‘If there is one thing I know about Roman Roy is that he’s a fast learner.’’, she jokes, but it falls on deaf ears as she feels the muscles in his arm twitch and strain under her palm.

‘‘I don’t care if I’m a shitty lay, if it were literally anyone else, but…it’s _you_ , Gerri. I can’t-’’

He pulls away abruptly, turns on his back, stares at the ceiling to contain his anger, his self-loathing.

It clicks for her then. This man, he’s never _not_ been abandoned in his entire life, so of course he’d come to expect it on all fronts.

She gently pries away his palm from his face. Doing away with the extra sheets on the bed, sending them flying to the bottom of the mattress, she slowly straddles his body, moves up to hover above him.

‘‘Can you smell me, Roman?’’, she asks, searching his face, moving closer.

His breath stutters in his chest, pupils dilating further, until a gaping black hole is all she can see when she looks into his eyes

She slowly reaches for his hand, guides it between their bodies and into her panties, settling the warm palm against the juices pooling there. She leans into him, nuzzles his neck, whispers soothingly.

‘‘We haven’t done anything but kiss yet, and _this_ is what you do to me. Even if you were the worst lay in the history of sex – which you won’t be – do you see why I would stick around, among so many other reasons?’’

He cups between her legs gently and she can’t help let out a little moan, grind down onto the warmth of his exploring fingers.

‘‘Don’t think. No one else exists right now. Just you and me, okay? Can you do that, Rockstar?’’

* * *

He never quite knows how she manages it, but it’s like a button has been pushed and he does exactly as told. The only thing that he sees, feels, breathes in that moment is her, and her alone.

He pulls his hand away, holds her securely and moves them up and backwards to lean against the headboard, her still in his lap. She smiles at him, following his movements, seems content to be co-pilot. Teamwork fucking makes the dream work, right?

He starts off slow, observes her flushed chest, the way her full breasts peak out from the tops of the deliciously risqué negligee of choice. His finger traces the rim of one of the cups, leaving visible goosebumps in its wake, and he can feel her nipple harden through the thin, heated silk, his mouth salivating at the notion.

He moves under her, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his painfully hard cock, because if he doesn’t, it’ll be over before it started for him. He knows he’d still be able to bring her pleasure, but he’d still prefer it if they got there together.

She understands and moves slightly forward now resting on his lower stomach.

He reaches to the back of the bra, eyes seeking permission, a soft tilt of her head his answer to the unasked question. The bra goes the way of the sheets.

It’s not a new sight, of course. He’s tried to use this part of the female anatomy a long time to get him going, make him feel something, always ended up chasing a high that never came. And yet, as he can’t help but stare at Gerri, topless, seated on his lap, the scent of her filling the entire room, he thinks the view might just make him pass out.

She reaches out for his hands then, and then he is touching her, in awe of the very fact he can now do something he realizes he’s been fantasizing about for months.

She is so very real, in that moment, more real than she ever was, and he surges forward, placing a myriad of tiny, feverishly wet kisses across her cleavage, hands still cupping her, thumbs running across stiff nipples.

She exhales hard and clutches at his shoulders, hips rocking into him. He feels her against his stomach, so wet and ready, thinks he’s not been too quick in helping her alleviate any of the tension.

His hands leave her breasts, go quickly to her side, reaching the left seam of her panties, grabbing the material.

At first she doesn’t know what he’s doing but when he rips the fabric in two in one swift move she gasps loudly, followed by another gasp as he tears away the other seam, pulling the garment away from her body altogether.

‘‘I didn’t much feel like moving you off me’’, he says and pulls her down against himself, hands on her hips, pushing upwards, the heat of her flush against his skin almost too much to bear.

* * *

The lack of experience means nothing to this man, she notes happily, because if someone told her this was the last night on earth she’d freely say she could die happy.

It’s not so much the prowess or anything similar, though he isn’t lacking in that area either so far- it’s the attentiveness.

She feels it vibrate off his entire body, can almost see the hum of it as she grips his forearms harder, focuses on the slide of her arousal against his stomach muscles.

She captures his lips, and he quickly slips his tongue in, somehow making her wetter in an instant as it moves against her own, flicking into her mouth, and darting out. He changes focus then, runs possessive, open mouthed kisses down her throat.

He shimmies down the bed, hands gripping her and keeping her in place, and she understands what he wants to do. She looks down at his face between her legs.

‘‘Roman, you don’t have to-oh my god-’’

She is cut short by his tongue licking a hot wet stripe into her, and she has to grab the headboard in order to not give her legs reason to give way completely and possibly suffocate him. She saves the thought for later when she can laugh at the silliness with him.

For the moment, she is content in connecting with wave after wave of soft pleasure as he laps at her, ever so gentle. She is so close to the most mellow, electrifying orgasm she’s ever experienced when he stops, peers up at her.

‘‘Wh-’’, she starts, but the words die in her throat when his lips go back to work, his diligent fingers spreading her wider, tongue entering her.

Baird had never been a fan of this particular act, and Gerri never insisted so the fact that Roman is so giving in this area is enough to send her hurtling towards that precipice. Coupled with his thumb rubbing her clit, massaging with light, heated strokes, it makes her come so hard that when she shuts her eyes she can feel the room spin around her, grinding down onto his mouth, unable to stop herself. His hands grip her sides, and the feel of his stubble against her labia and thighs make her movements even more erratic.

She barely has enough strength to move away from him and land on her back on the mattress, arm over her eyes, chest expanding with labored breaths. There are tears in her eyes there is no way in hell he won’t misunderstand.

* * *

He had looked it up, of course, the knowledge was there, he just had no idea he would be this turned on by actually doing it, the thought never once crossed his mind, previous experiences, previous mentions of actually committing to the act itself only ever bringing nausea with them.

But the taste of her, feel of her keening, panting and melting above him…he would happily stay under this woman for the next ten years if she wanted him to. Only ever her.

She is catching her breath next to him on the bed, and as she finally moves her arm away from her eyes to face him, the tears he sees shock him into movement.

‘‘Gerri?’’, he cups her face gently, searches it for any hint of an answer as to what he did to make her cry, how he misjudged the situation.

She reaches for his jaw, kisses him almost strong enough to bruise, pulls herself upright, taking him with her.

‘‘I’m okay, it’s just…it’s been a while, I-’’, she pauses, wipes the tears away, lets herself be held.

‘‘Without going into detail’’, she murmurs into his shoulder, ’’…it’s a first, for me. In many ways.’’

First orgasm from someone going down on her, first orgasm borne from pure emotion ( _that_ revelation startles her as thoughts of Baird flit through her mind, making her realize yet another set of things about their incredibly empty marriage). First real orgasm not created by her own hand in possibly twelve years. It’s a lot to process.

She searches his reaction, pleased that he seems calmer, kisses him again, almost pornographically, swallows his surprised groan, pushing him back down. Her hand reaches for him, wrapping firmly around his shaft, and she licks her lips as he smirks.

‘‘What are you grinning at, you little mollusk?’’, she bites out without malice, swirling her palm upwards as he bucks up into her hold.

‘‘Not really a mollusk though, am I?’’, he manages, between ragged breaths, eyes slamming shut in pleasure.

She looks down, just because she can, and - though she has never been one to actively judge an appearance of a man’s penis of all things - she can’t help but acknowledge the generous girth, the elegant way it curves ever so slightly at the tip, the way it fits perfectly in her hand, the heat of him magically ruling her as she feels herself get aroused all over again.

He hisses at her movements, clasps his arms around her lower back, pulling her onto his body, and she settles comfortably into a rhythm, slow and firm, a flick of a thumb at the top, the musk of him hitting her throbbing core over and over again.

‘‘Ge-Gerri-’‘, he stutters out, his hand coming to stop her, and she does, looks up at him, knows immediately what he means.

She kisses away the nerves she can see in the corners of his eyes.

‘‘How do you want me?’’, she whispers into his lips, hand coming up to brush the strand of hair away from his eyes.

He cradles her whole body so gently she thinks he may have just somehow erased the memory of the touch of any other man she’d ever been with before.

He is above for just a second, but then lays down next to her, pulling her onto her side, gently lifting her leg up and over his thigh.

She runs the back of her hand across his cheek tenderly, scoots herself closer, feels his fingers delve into her again, realizes he’s making sure she’s ready. She almost whines at how sensitive she is. She rotates her hips into his fingers and feels their loss acutely when he moves away.

But then the tip of him is at her entrance, and she decides to prolong that initial sensation of impending ecstatic frenzy.

She lifts her leg higher, onto his hip, grips his forearm tightly, the wet, warm slide of her across the length of him, the preview of the main event, eliciting a deep moan from him which transforms into a growl as he bites into her shoulder.

She winces slightly at the pain, but as he moves away, she pecks the sharp line of his jaw, whispering encouragements, her hand at his neck, urging his mouth back.

‘‘No…keep going.’’

He obeys, tidy crescent shapes appearing on her pale skin. He soothes the area with his tongue, continuing the trail up towards the junction between neck and shoulder.

‘‘Oh god…’’, she hums, a gurgle of unbridled joy stuck in the depth of her chest as she rocks across him one more time before swiftly moving them so she is on top.

She finds his eyes then, smiling at the flushed cheeks, sweaty forehead, mussed hair she can’t help but reach out and brush through again.

‘‘You ready?’’

He nods fervently, hands now grabbing her waist, her warm flesh an anchor for his eagerly distraught psyche. He makes an effort not to push up prematurely, allows for the exorbitant amount of pleasure as he feels her bear down onto him.

He looks up at her, her eyes shut, head thrown back in concentration, and meets her movement halfway, sinks in the rest of the way as she gasps out yet another expletive, a collection of which is branded onto his mind for all eternity, a rare, exotic audio to soothe all future nightmares.

‘‘Fuck-’’, he groans, stills his hips, his eyes telling her to take over, that he can’t trust himself not to ruin it.

She leans down yet again, her lips mapping a path across his feverish brow, neck, taut chest. She starts to move.

* * *

It’s deeply telling, the moment she realizes that she had cried more in one hour with Roman Roy than she had in the past decade or so of her life. The other baffling thing is the fact that they’re happy tears. She hasn’t yet met a man who brought happy tears to her eyes. She blinks against the wetness, lets the joy overtake her.

Her hips gyrate, and she feels him inside of her so deliciously deep she can sense his heartbeat now, pulsating against her cervix, thinks she can taste the rhythm of it at the back of her throat even, delusional though the thought may be.

She looks down, sees his face contorted in pleasure and restraint.

She reaches down, out of breath, cupping his jaw gently as she keeps moving, the momentum not broken once, the haze of their lovemaking too strong she doesn’t know if she would be able to stop if Logan himself barged into the room.

She decides to dwell on the term ’’lovemaking’’ later.

‘‘Rome?’’

He blinks, a single tear of his own rolling onto the sheets under him, her finger tracing its path gently.

‘‘I know.’’, she assures him, assures them both.

He nods feverishly at the words, rises up, hugging her close, and starts meeting her thrusts.

Her body is frantic now, getting hungry for the release, and she knows he is too, by the way he jerks inside her as he tries to counter every roll of her hips.

‘‘Oh god, yes…fuck…yes…’’

Her nails drag a path across his back, and she briefly wonders if maybe she drew blood, by the way he ramps up the speed, reaching down between them, finding her clit, swiping so perfectly against it once, twice, a third time until she is literally seeing fireworks behind her eye lids.

She is then the one to bite his shoulder, needing a way to stop the scream from coming out, from alerting the entire family.

She comes, and he is close behind.

Gerri focuses on his pleasure then as the tail end of hers is in the ether around them. She bucks onto him at just the angle she knows will drive him over the edge.

As he climaxes, he holds onto her so tightly she feels she can’t breathe, and the sensations make her encourage his hold further, her arms coming to wrap around his neck just as fiercely.

Soon, they collapse into a heap on the bed, facing each other, breaths uneven and hot, sharing the same air. They don’t move for a long few minutes.

* * *

His head is pillowed against her breast, his fingers running a mindless pattern across the skin of her stomach. He feels her shiver and reaches down to cover them both with one of the discarded sheets.

‘‘Well…that happened.’’, he manages and she rests her cheek against the crown of his head, presses a gentle kiss there.

‘‘Yes it did.’’, she replies, gaze unfocused and sleepy.

‘‘Do we…I don’t know, talk about it? Like, what it means?’’, he almost gags the words out and she has to stop herself from giggling. So on brand for him.

‘‘Well I suppose I need to remind you that you have a girlfriend. Or was it eunuch bestie?’’

She tries not to let the mention of Tabitha bother her too much, to not reprimand herself for doing what she did, knowing what she knows about her and Roman’s pseudo-relationship.

He snorts, burrowing further into her body, one arm sliding under her, the other across her stomach, effectively trapping her. She doesn’t feel trapped though. Just safe.

‘‘I, uh…broke it off. Well, we both did. Before I went to Turkey. What was the point?’’

She doesn’t know what to say, but feels a heady cloud of joy diffuse in her chest, can’t even begin to start deconstructing the pleasure at hearing the words.

‘‘Rule number one.’’, she starts, feels him let out a faux-annoyed sigh into her skin.

‘‘We’re doing rules? Oh I am so hot for teacher right now.’’

She pushes him away lightly, and he bounces back into her arms, claiming his previous spot again.

‘‘Okay, okay, rule number one?’’

‘‘No one can know.’’

He’s quiet. Too quiet for her liking and she knows he’s overthinking it, finding reasons to blame himself, wanting to know why she wants him to be kept a dirty secret. She knows precisely what’s bothering him because, apparently she has become a phenomenon, an empath of one, Romulus Roy’s entire range of emotion striking her heart just as he experiences them.

She has no idea when it started happening, but she doesn’t ponder it too long and uses it to calm him.

‘‘Roman, I need you to listen, without letting your inner monologue get in the way, hm? This is in no way about me trying to duck out of whatever we just started. This is me being cautious. What do you think your father would do if he knew I was here right now, like this?’’

‘‘I don’t care-’’, he starts but she shushes him, finger on his lips, the pad softly tapping at the flushed skin.

‘‘I know you may think that, and it possibly may well be true, but we have to be careful. He can ruin me, Rome.’’

She doesn’t voice the fear she has for his literal life, too.

She doesn’t want to let the vulnerability in her voice show, but he can hear it nonetheless, leaning up on his elbow, nudging her chin up with his finger,

‘‘I don’t care who he is, Gerr. If he so much as thinks of doing anything... I’m not the feeble runt everyone fucking thinks I am.’’

If anyone knows this it’s her. For the past months he has done little else but prove it.

‘‘But still’’, she continues, ’’I would like to keep my job, stay in the company, _stay close to you_. And the way to do that, for now, is to lay low.’’

‘‘So…Rockstar and the Molewoman?’’

‘‘Yes.’’, she smiles as he leaps up to kiss her, moans into him as he swallows the sound and keeps deepening it. He breaks away, eyes shining with mirth.

‘‘Okay. I can live with that. And…I just need to put this out there, because I have been informed that fucking normos deal with relationships like this – I am not in this for a friends-with-benefits situation, Gerr. Not by a fucking long shot.’’

She can tell how much it took him to say it, to put himself out there, having only just recently been introduced to the very concept of it.

He aches for her reassurance, the words of reciprocation.

‘‘Me too. You don’t have to worry. Lord knows I have no idea how _we_ happened, but we did. And now, we have to be smart about it, because this means there is just one more thing on the line if we’re not careful.’’

He nods solemnly this time, lying back down, his grip on her body more secure.

**PART 2**

Roman is nowhere to be found as their entire world collapses, and she manages to dodge Logan long enough to roam the yacht in search for him, her phone in hand, though she’s seriously considered throwing it into the ocean, the lack of service making the thing virtually pointless.

She feels a hand wrap around her wrist, pulling her into an alcove separated from the main deck area by a long wall of empty cabins and just as she’s about to jab a sharp elbow into whoever pulled her in, she hears Roman’s voice trying to calm her.

‘‘It’s me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-’’

‘‘Roman, you idiot, I could push you overboard for this, what the fuck was that all about?!’’

He presses a palm across her lips, indicating she should be silent, and the wild look in his eyes scares her.

‘‘Roman?’’

‘‘I was able to get some reception thirty minutes ago. After Kendall left, the way he left, I had this shitty gut feeling something was about to happen. And he confirmed it when I called. He said he wouldn’t want to lie to me. He asked me something, Gerr. And now…I want to ask you something. _Again_.’’

She is silent, mulling over his little garbled speech. Apparently, he had known shit was about to hit the fan, but it had been a mere thirty minutes prior so she tones down the desire to ask why he hadn’t contacted her. He’d probably have to walk for a good twenty minutes to find where she was on the boat.

‘‘He asked you to be his inside man.’’

A nod.

‘‘What are you not telling me?’’

His face morphs into fury then, an angry snarl on his lips and her stomach tightens.

‘‘Did he say something else Roman?’’

‘‘You will be interim CEO, of course. He insinuated he has something on you, that some of the papers involve you and he is going to keep them from the feds, use them against you when it’s time to vote someone in permanently. ‘‘

He is openly shaking now, and she overrides her own fear to calm his, soothe the anger, because the last thing they needed was Logan stumbling across what was clearly a conspiracy huddle, they needed to split up as soon as possible.

‘‘Rome. I can handle Kendall’’, she tries, completely unconvinced of her own words, trying to remember what on earth his brother could have on her.

‘‘My point is this – he doesn’t know about _us_. They all seem to be under some delusion that I’m just some loser with a milf fetish hanging onto your skirts for crumbs of attention and that that’s all there is to it. He thinks his fucking offer is enough for me to throw you to the wolves.’’

‘‘Are you saying you’re not a loser with a milf fetish?’’, she teases, tries to lighten the mood, but he’s not having it.

‘‘I’m saying it pays off to be underestimated sometimes. I took him up on his offer. So whatever he does have, I’ll have too. Which again brings me to the point you’re dodging. You need safety, and my name can provide a certain amount of it, despite a good portion of it being dunked in shit, completely beyond repair – sorry about that. ‘‘

In that moment, looking at him so determined and protective of her, she feels him embed himself further in her life, her future, and she is completely unable to find fault with the situation.

‘‘I eat you, you eat me?’’

‘‘Not much to think about anymore, Gerr.’’

A single nod is his response as she calculates further.

‘‘This may not necessarily be a bad thing, you know.’’, she says, the Rubik’s cube turning this way and that in the corporate side of her brain.

‘‘I know. This whole shebang with Cruises and what I’m assuming will be a super complicated trial for dad will take a while. In the meantime, CEO and COO get free reign of the place, get to do whatever they please within Waystar.’’

She grins at his words, at his conniving little brain, even somewhat scared of just how much she may yet come to worship it.

‘‘Okay then, Mr. Roy.’’

She cannot believe what she is doing, and yet somehow it doesn’t feel crazy at all. At least she can safely say she will never be bored.

‘‘I take it you tested the waters – no pun intended - with the captain?’’

‘‘Yup. For enough greenery he can give us his silence and a valid marriage certificate. I had him agree to meet us in thirty minutes in his private office.’’

She crosses her arms, arches an eyebrow at him.

‘‘Well, someone was sure I’d say yes?’’

‘‘What can I say, I’m just that good in the sack.’’, he throws back, a smug, teasing smirk on his handsome boyish features and she laughs, swats at his shoulder.

She looks around making sure they were still alone before letting him kiss her, which is what he is clearly angling for. She can taste the strawberries they had in bed before she snuck out to change.

‘‘Shall we, Rockstar?’’, she breathes onto his warm lips as the embrace ends.

‘‘Oh yeah. You bet your perfect ass we shall, Molewoman.’’

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, thanks for sticking around and let me know what you thought! ;)


End file.
